


Split

by hazk



Series: Limbo [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Season/Series 15, s15 e20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/pseuds/hazk
Summary: “Feel free to move on without me.”





	Split

Grif knew how to follow a plan. He did know that.

Maybe there were times, often enough, when he chose not to go with them because he knew from the start that they weren't going to be worth the effort. But this wasn’t one of those times.

This was Grif unable to focus, unable to see what was ahead of him but always imagining the worst; unable to hear nothing but the sound of gunshots from his far left as he hurried onward with the gun held in a tight grip.

Today really was an exception, no matter what anyone else might have thought of him. And it’s not like anyone actually knew Grif well enough to have anything worthwhile to say about the motivation behind any of his actions.

His arms were shaking, his hold coming loose. He wanted nothing more than to let go of the rifle, but he knew it wasn't an option.

Today was an exception.

After they had entered the Blues and Reds’ base on Earth, Grif had made a conscious decision to not follow the plan he had heard, going his own way instead. To him, there was a very solid chance that _this_ would benefit the others more than what they had had in mind for him.

After all, it was obvious he still hadn’t done enough _–_

Grif needed to do better than he ever had before.

 

* * *

 

Simmons hadn’t been a fan of splitting up and it was obviously a stupid idea with them having already left Sarge to face Surge on his own. But with a ton of simulation troopers flooding the hallways and shooting the walls around them full of holes, it had been simple enough to tell the maroon soldier to keep running the other way.

They would meet on the other side, each of the corridors just as likely as the next to lead wherever it was they were heading. Their target was the only thing that mattered and at least one of them had to get to it in time.

And with that Grif had been left to run on his own, having quickly been thrown back to this all too familiar role of hurrying forward, alone, and without any confirmation that he would succeed. He relied heavily on his senses, and the moment he heard footsteps approach from one of the doorways to his right he reflexively stopped to hide in a corner, to wait for the figure to pass without unnecessary conflict.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry, got to hurry to the ship!”

The voice was familiar, immediately telling Grif that it belonged to whatever-copy-Caboose’s-name-was. The Blue ran past him without minding the few lost bullets flying straight by his head as he kept going.

For a second, Grif had almost reached forward to drag him in cover. The familiarity was concerning, Grif’s distracted mind screaming at him to save them all.

“Got to be the right direction, at least…” Grif mumbled in a half-hearted attempt to get rid of the gnawing worry over the Blue idiot. Breathing heavily, he forced himself to turn the way not-Caboose had come from, slipping away as silently as he could.

The whirring machines covered for the soft clanks of armoured boots against the floor. Slow and steady, don’t attract attention – the noises of a war between simulation troopers from all across the galaxy were distracting enough to draw any leftover enemies far from him, he hoped.

But - _just like every single one of them_ \- Grif had been screwed from the very start of his deployment.

During the many years of Project Freelancer, the one detail that had always gone against every protocol were the colours of their armour. Obviously, the Red and Blue simulation troopers were intended as target practice so there was nothing inherently wrong with dressing them up as such, but a flash of orange in the corner of someone’s eye is still plenty to get yourself caught.

Especially when the person who saw you has a very low tolerance for your colour of choice.

 

* * *

 

The first bullet flew straight over his head with merely an inch left in between, immediately making Grif slump down and take cover by the wall. He spun his head back, and what he saw at the other end of the corridor was exactly who he had been preparing to hunt down from the start.

Their roles had been switched in no time, it seemed, but there was no time to dwell on that.

Temple stood in silence, his shadow harsh against the poorly lit hallway. He took a step forward with the sniper rifle already pointed Grif’s way.

There was still enough distance between them to make the choice of weapon sensible, Grif found himself thinking, but that wasn’t much of a relief with it being pointed at him. He staggered back to his feet and rushed forward, not wasting a second trying to get a shot in as he worked to get away from the bullets once again flying his way.

The first door wasn’t far off, and thankfully Temple appeared to have a familiar lack of skill when it came to using the rifle. But still, it was more than a little discomforting to have stray bullets spray the walls and floor around him as Grif ran towards whatever safety a closed space could offer.

What made the escape worse was Temple not making a sound as he kept on shooting. In an almost artificial calm he took slow steps after Grif, with barely a pause in between the onslaught of bullets and reloading.

Grif flew through the doorway and into an open storage the edges of which were covered in shelves filled with random items, scrap and parts. None of it appeared useful and all Grif really cared for was finding cover so that Temple could no longer use his primary weapon on him.

Grif headed for the left side of the hall and a shelf not entirely pushed against the wall behind it. There was no other cover available and he had no time to work on making his own - he could only hope his armour, combined with the boxes on the shelves, was enough to keep him from his death.

Then again, Grif realised, the shots had already grown silent, only the sound of those from further in the base reaching him now. Grif took a deep breath and ignored them, instead focusing on the heavy footsteps that made their way to the entrance of the room and then stopped there.

Temple was still saying nothing and that if anything was disconcerting, Grif thought as he held on to the rifle and mentally prepared himself. From the little he had seen and learned of the Blue, he knew better than to expect anything good to happen next.

Grif had already lost the chance for a surprise attack, and Temple had more than the upper hand here – bad shot or not. But that wasn’t the point, and Grif knew there was still a chance for him to adapt and make his time count.

First, he could take a shot and try to finish everything fast.

Grif took a deep breath and jumped forward. He spun around the shelf to point the rifle at the entrance where Temple was still staring inside the room, as if waiting for something to happen without further prompting.

Grif grit his teeth as the hold he had of his weapon, pointed at the other man, left him feeling numb. He knew what was expected of him. There was no time to waste, when the enemy was already beginning to turn his way.

Temple tilted his head.

The trigger hardly let out a silent click as he pulled it and Grif’s eyes widened behind his visor. The sniper rifle was already being raised, pointed at him again.

Immediately, Grif pulled back and threw himself behind the shelf with a breathless gasp. His weapon had jammed, of course it had, and he stared down at it in shock.

“I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!”

It was a sudden break in the silence they had built up until then, and it made Grif’s breath hitch. Temple's words had practically come out as a strangled scream and, through his yelling, he had began to shoot at the boxes that barely separated Grif’s back from him.

Grif could have laughed at the snarl in Temple’s voice if he wasn’t too preoccupied with calming his own, ragged breathing. He leaned against the shelf and looked around the tight space he had crammed himself in, belatedly noticing that there was no way for him to make any sudden movements now that he was fully enclosed in it.

There was nowhere to run.

“What do you want me to do about it?!” Grif asked as loud as he could, hoping for the best with whatever reply he was about to get.

“GET OUT HERE!” Temple yelled back and took another warning shot at the shelf, the bullet hitting something right above Grif’s head and making metal scrap fall on him with a loud clank.

“So you can shoot me _easier?_ Fuck off, not my problem!” Grif called back. Without anything else to do, he automatically went to check his ammo. At least he had plenty, for once, but it seemed he wouldn’t get the chance to use any of it what with his main weapon already jammed. With a breathless huff, he dropped the rifle to the ground.

“You want me dead, you do it yourself!”

Temple let out a low curse and Grif could hear him actually begin to approach the shelf. He didn’t seem all that bothered by the idea of Grif fighting back, which he took to mean he still had a chance.

Although there was no space for him to do much more than turn the way he heard Temple approaching from, Grif prepared himself by raising his pistol. He wasn't actually going to take the shot, though, knowing there was nothing it could do but further piss Temple off.

There was another way to use the situation to his advantage. Maybe.  

“Drop. Your. _Weapon_.”

Temple sounded angry in a way Grif hadn’t heard even in their previous, brief meeting; and it was understandable considering the hurry he must have been in by now. It was easy enough for Grif to listen to the order and drop the pistol unceremoniously to the ground.

The gun let out a loud crack against the pavement as it fell next to the already abandoned rifle. Neither of them paid it any mind as they stared at each another in a moment of strained silence, Temple having appeared at the opening at the end of the shelf with a steady aim straight at Grif’s face.

“Happy?” Grif finally said, lifting his hands in a motion a little too quick to test Temple’s reaction.

The Blue didn’t even flinch.

“Very…” Temple growled instead. He took a step back to make space for Grif to inch his way out of the corner he had pressed into.

Temple lifted his chin as if to appear taller, but there was something overly careful in the way he attempted to keep the distance between them as Grif took another step forward. Grif could practically see his eyes dart across the open space of the hall while he searched for the reason the Red had come in as recklessly as he had.

The guy seemed to have learned his lesson from the way their last encounter had played out. The way Grif’s actions had worked to free his team to be here now had obviously left Temple uninterested in risking anything for the final stretches of his plan.

“An odd choice, to let me have a hostage on these very decisive moments”, Temple finally said as he continued to study their surroundings. Still, the cheer of his voice appeared more forceful than before.

“Not really… I’m not the one you’d want for that, my life isn’t worth much around here”, Grif replied just as smoothly, his eyes on the pistol Temple had trained on him. “Which, you should know by now.”

Temple appeared to take his words in for a moment, his helmet tilting ever so slightly. He let out a halting laugh.

“What? Telling me you’re worthless to my cause? Not that _that_ comes as a surprise or anything, but still – a bold statement, in these circumstances…”

It had been, and thankfully it was also enough to earn Grif a verbal reaction. He knew Temple had no use for him, which more often than not mean getting shot.

But the chances of the opposite were what Grif was betting for.

What he had seen of Temple’s reaction towards him back at the lair, and how he had actually allowed Grif to live this long here as well, had already told him the probability of  _not_ getting killed on the spot was quite high. Or high enough to risk it at least, for the sake of his now modified plan to deal with Temple.

“Well, makes it easier, doesn’t it? Feel free to move on without me”, Grif said with a carefree note to his voice, lifting his arms even higher up in the air. Covering before Temple, he pointed a thumb at the exit behind them.

Temple didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, his reply slipping out without a second's pause:

“No.”

There was something to the way the word was said, it not just a warning with how Temple’s voice had cracked. It seemed to surprise the both of them.

Grif realised then, just how much of his so called plan of action had been built on his curiosity instead of the idea of pure success. This scenario was new to him, and Temple a surprisingly welcomed unfamiliarity after all that time on the moon and only Grif’s own imagination having been there to keep him company; with scenario after scenario of failure to be any use to the others.

There was a shadow of Church here as well, but Temple was not someone Grif could ever compare to the long dead AI.

What would happen?

What would Temple _do?_

That much wasn’t up to Grif’s decisions, and he really wanted to see how it would work out.

The pistol was still being pointed at his visor and Temple's aim showed no sign of wavering. His glare became more and more apparent the closer to Grif he got with his short steps.

“What do you want? What do you think you will gain by doing _this?_ ”

Temple was the one asking the questions, leaving Grif even more curious as he watched the man stop in his approach. With Temple’s voice having grown steady once more, there no longer were the teasing tilts or grandiose speeches to further distract him. Grif had to take this seriously to keep Temple’s attention on him.

In a moment of attempting to fully focus on his reply, it hurt like hell when Grif found that he didn’t actually have one to give. There was a sharp twist of his head as the thought disarmed him.

Grif knew more than well what he was here for, yes, and he wasn’t going back on that; he wanted to save the others, make sure he could contribute to this fight and prove he was sorry for causing the Reds and Blues as much trouble as he had.

By facing Temple like he was, Grif was aiming to take away the others’ need to ever do so. But what gain was there  _for Grif_ , who now found himself interested to see it all for himself without even understanding why exactly that was.

Noticing he wasn't about to get an answer, Temple chuckled under his breath. He took one more step towards Grif as if to take a closer look.

“You came here with no plan, didn’t you? And here I was, worried for a second! Apparently I should have taken another look when you first made an appearance in Desert Gulch, but it wasn’t you behind the plan then either, was it?”

“Yeah, no. I had a partner”, Grif immediately replied, grateful for the distraction and unable to not think fondly of the fact that Locus’ idea had worked out the way it had. And the inspiration from then could be seen in his current actions as well, with even Temple aware of at least that much. “We got you good, huh.”

“Did you?” Temple questioned, his voice dropping and going almost soft. “Does it even matter if you did? You are here again, the _entire team of heroes_ , and you think _you_ can stop me? By doing _this?_ I would love to laugh but I simply find you too… _pathetic_ for even that much, I’m afraid.”

The distance between them had closed by now and Grif only registered it when the pistol was held right against his forehead. But he couldn’t be bothered to care when the weapon wasn’t the point.

What mattered was the time it took for Temple to even think about pulling the trigger.

It was so much better this way.

“You’d be surprised by how many –“

“Project Freelancer, _Chorus..._  Your team, _the heroes of the abandoned_ , fighting against the UNSC’s uncaring attitude towards those they _used_ to get their current hold on the universe! And here you are again, doing the very same thing to protect them as well, unprompted! _Ah!_ I know what _you have done_ , and I know exactly who _you have won against!_ Doesn’t change anything, now!” Temple suddenly snarled and with a loud crack pressed the pistol against Grif’s visor.

Grif didn’t even wince when Temple continued to scream at him, almost as if lost in thought:

“You can’t decide what ‘will be’ based on ‘ _what was’_ _–!_ “

Temple went still and his words came to a sudden stop, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger as he appeared to reconsider what he had just said.

“You’ve got some issues, you know that right?” Grif asked, letting out a carefree laugh as he could practically hear Temple grit his teeth at the reply. After a brief pause, Temple took a deep breath, the movement visible in the way his shoulders relaxed even with the armour on.

“Whatever you think you will gain by doing this doesn’t matter”, Temple repeated with his voice now having gone back to blank. “I have already won.”

Grif huffed.

“You’re assuming it’s your plan I have a problem with? Not that I like that one either, but…”

Temple tilted his head, the question coming out with a second’s delay and showing off his surprise: “What?”

“I’m here because it’s _you_ I want to stop. Not your plan to blow up the UNSC or whatever, I wasn’t really listening during that part…”

Temple stilled, something in those words seeming to take him back. “Oh…” he hummed, his disgust towards Grif even more obvious now. “What did I _ever_ do to you?”

There was a forced chuckle to his voice still; Temple thought he knew the answer well enough even without getting a reply. Grif snorted, returning the gesture.

“Nothing, I guess... But this isn’t about me.”

It was instant.

Temple flinched at the words the moment Grif had gotten them out, the movement involuntary and sharp as he let out a hiss. He took an unsteady step backwards, and although the aim of his pistol didn’t falter it seemed like the rest of him did.

“Y-you really are just a… Oh, _come on!_ ” Temple spat out through his teeth, throwing his head back and leaving Grif unable to decipher what the problem was. “You are nothing! Nothing! Just a further _distraction and a delay!_ To keep me away from _them!_  To let them take their time defusing the drill! Without having to deal with me! I am the real danger _for them,_ here, you think? Villainous dialogue to avoid any further issue! The cliché!”

With the point said out loud by one of them, there was no reason to make himself less of a target. Grif stopped fighting the strain on his muscles and let his arms drop.

Temple just stared.

“Wasn’t my original intention but it worked well enough? You love to chat even if you, apparently, know better”, Grif replied, also forcefully relaxing on his spot and stretching his arms back. There wasn’t much else he could do without his weapons and, for as long as Temple’s attention was on him, it was fine that way.

“Still, all for them…?” Temple scoffed in repeat, systematically ignoring the rest of the implications in Grif’s words. “The Reds and Blues! What a marvellous group they are to build such strong bonds of sacrifice! I am touched!”

The way he spat out each of the words was discomforting, Temple’s malice obvious. But it wasn’t just that as, to Grif, it almost sounded like he was –

“To think I celebrated them once! For what they did!”

Buying seconds was a skill Grif had been developing for the long years in the Red Army – here, every word spoken was a moment of safety for the Reds and Blues in their attempt to stop whatever was happening with the bomb-drill.

“Huh…”

But there was something off here, enough so for that same curiosity to come back and make Grif interrupt. He threw Temple’s earlier question right back at him:

“And what did we ever do to _you?_ ”

Temple paused. His breath hitched for a moment as he finally seemed to glance past Grif, to spend a moment considering the actual other places he was supposed to be at; for a plan he had worked on for a very long time. 

There should have been no reason for him to have personally come after Grif yet here he was, standing in an otherwise empty storage room during the finale he had sacrificed so much for.

This wasn’t about Grif, _this wasn’t about Grif_ , and that was the point. Temple couldn’t not listen to him, no matter how much he hated the voice that didn’t match the armour at all.

The disgust, the anger, _the glee_ – everything tied to this one moment of victory Temple had worked so hard to achieve – was only magnified by the shade of orange he couldn’t look past even for a second. 

“You? You…” Temple forced out, the bright colour before him holding him in his place. He should have fired the gun a long time ago, but he hadn't.

Still, he knew he had no time for this.

“Just like them… You didn’t care.”

Temple's voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he took a quick step forward, raising the pistol in a sharp move even if he was unable to steady his suddenly shaking hand. Grif, surprised as he was by the answer, didn’t have time to fully register the movement before everything had already gone dark and his back hit the floor.

The sound of armour hitting the pavement, and the continuous echo of gunshots from somewhere far away, were quickly wiped from his mind. Temple’s eyes grew wide behind the visor and his hands flew up to pull at the clasps of his helmet in a familiar movement.

Temple knew he didn't have time for this, but that didn't stop him from being unable to move from his spot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Limbo of no control, no progress, no improvement; awaiting the actions of someone else for the scene to change.


End file.
